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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26273647">the man but not the light, the field but not the varnish</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ships_to_sail/pseuds/ships_to_sail'>ships_to_sail</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Schitt's Creek</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anal Fingering, Butt Plugs, Edgeplay, Hand Jobs, Light BDSM, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Episode: s05e01 The Crowening, Sassy Patrick, Two Cocksluts in Love</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 05:55:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,893</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26273647</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ships_to_sail/pseuds/ships_to_sail</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“If you think we need a generator, David, I’ll show you a fucking spark.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Patrick Brewer/David Rose</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>142</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>the man but not the light, the field but not the varnish</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiwiana/gifts">yourbuttervoicedbeau (kiwiana)</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Beau has gifted me such an insane amount of fic already, is such an unfailing friend and recent source of steadfast joy. They never fail to take my "what if"s and turn them into the most beautiful art. This is for them, and it's all porn, and I know they'll appreciate that more than anything. </p><p>All my gratitude for the Rosebudd Love Room for, well. Basically literally all of this.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>David really should’ve known better. After everything that had happened with Rachel, they’d made a promise to try and be as honest with each other as possible, </span>
  <em>
    <span>especially </span>
  </em>
  <span>when it seemed hard. Which is a deal he’s made with lovers in the past, but never with an equal amount of sincerity from both parties. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he should have used his words and talked to Patrick, instead of letting his sister wind him up. David knew enough about himself to know that he wasn’t exactly subtle about what his trigger points were, but even after </span>
  <em>
    <span>mumblesomthing </span>
  </em>
  <span>years, Alexis is still managing to find new ones to push so hard it’s a miracle she doesn’t break a nail. He never should have told her that he missed Patrick, that he’d felt ironically </span>
  <em>
    <span>more </span>
  </em>
  <span>distant since Patrick had moved out of Ray’s and into an apartment of his own. He’d opened the door just a crack on the shadow-monsters in his brain, the ones called Jealousy, and Abandonment, and Codependency, and Alexis had kicked the door down and invited them all to game night. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And David had fallen for it and lied to Patrick about it instead of just talking to him directly, and while on the one hand, it had been beyond sexy to see his boyfriends’ tree-trunk thighs bracketed in the thick nylon harness, it would have been far sexier if he’d been able to tell Patrick why there were there before they went, so that he could have enjoyed the moment to the fullest, instead of shooting little death glares at his sister.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d told Patrick eventually, though, half-way between two trees far enough off the ground that, despite what everyone kept yelling at him, he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>absolutely</span>
  </em>
  <span> capable of falling and breaking his neck and dying the world’s most indignant death. He’d yelled his feelings at his boyfriend and his sister and Ted and the fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>raccoons </span>
  </em>
  <span>hiding in the trees, and when he’d gotten done word vomiting his feelings Patrick had kissed him and wrapped his arms around David and reminded him again what gravity was like after you’d spent your entire life floating. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Until they’d gotten to the car. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Patrick slid the car into reverse, and then his hand in-between David’s thighs, scraping his nails across the thin fabric with a pleasant little </span>
  <em>
    <span>zzzzzzhhh </span>
  </em>
  <span>that made David shiver, checking his blindspot before lowering his voice into that almost-growl that drives David ten thousand kinds of crazy as he says, “If you think we need a generator, David, I’ll show you a fucking spark.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told you, I don’t—” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up. I did an entire tree-walk for you, just. No talking until we get home.” He’s not mad, but there’s enough force in his voice that David snaps his jaw shut and has to shift in his seat, his seatbelt suddenly uncomfortably firm across his lap. He doesn’t say a word the rest of the drive, a feat that’s frankly impressive to both of them. Patrick parks in front of his apartment building and doesn’t bother to wait for David as he makes his way through the parking garage to the far elevator. David walks up behind him slowly, his lips pressed together into a restrained smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey Patrick?” He crosses his arms and stands next to his boyfriend. “Why’d we come here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to, David,” he answers softly as the elevator door dings open in front of them. Patrick enters and leans against the back of the elevator, arching an eyebrow at David. “Were you waiting for an engraved invitation, or?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>David’s eyebrows climb to his hairline. “Well, aren’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>we </span>
  </em>
  <span>feeling sassy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sparky, actually. Get in the elevator. Please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>David rolls his eyes and doesn’t bother holding back the grin anymore. “Well. Since you said please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll get you fucking saying please,” Patrick mutters under his breath, and David does him the favor of pretending he doesn’t hear it. The ride to Patrick’s floor seems to take a literal year, and by the time they’re over Patrick’s threshold, David feels like he’s going to vibrate right out his skin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door isn’t even all the way shut before Patrick’s turning, slamming David into it so hard that the little wooden key-rack next to it clatters to the floor noisily. Patrick kicks it aside and digs his hands into David’s hips, pressing him back into the wood of the door as his lips travel along the underside of David’s jaw, finding his pulse point and biting down hard enough that David whimpers. At the sound, Patrick winds his hand into David’s hair and pulls, exposing the long line of David’s neck. He sucks on the soft skin below David’s air, rolling his hips against David’s, his erection already hot and hard. David feels his stomach flip, the muscles in his lower back tensing as his ass clenches down around nothing and he whines.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Patrick giggles and works the hand not in David’s hair down the front of his pants, running a single finger along the vein that runs the underside of David’s dick. Patrick swipes at the beads of precome already pooling at the tip, and when it’s not as much as he needs to get David filthy wet, he yanks his hand back out of David’s pants so fast they both hear a button pop. David doesn’t have enough time to be worried, though, because Patrick is spitting into his hand and shoving his hand back into David’s boxer-briefs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s doesn’t actually help, you know,” David teases, a reference to a long-ago lecture about the </span>
  <em>
    <span>correct </span>
  </em>
  <span>way to give a handjob, which usually earns a low laugh an a filthy “I know”, only this time Patrick covers David’s mouth with the hand not currently wrapped around his dick and begins to jerk him off, a little rougher and a little drier than he usually is, but there’s something about the sloppiness, the lack of prep and tenderness that is usually so </span>
  <em>
    <span>Patrick </span>
  </em>
  <span>that it’s working for David, as much as maybe it shouldn’t be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>David closes his eyes and lets his head fall back against the door and breathes through his orgasm, smiling at the little grunt Patrick makes when David spurts thick white ropes of come across the back of his knuckles, when it smears across the front of his wrist, and David barely gets his eyes open time to watch Patrick lick his hand clean, little pink flicks of his tongue like a kitten, softer and more intimate than it should be for an act that’s also so purely, deliciously filthy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus Christ, Patrick. That was —”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re not done,” Patrick says, not looking at David, his eyes on his hand as he continues to look for little spots of come he might have missed in the valleys between his fingers. “Get on the bed, David.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When David doesn’t move right away, Patrick’s eyes meet his and David sees...heat, and want, and lust, and all the things he’s used to seeing when he looks at the version of Patrick that wants to unravel David at all his seams. But there’s something else there, too. Something that looks too much like a challenge for David to ignore it. He takes Patrick’s hand and walks to the bed, backward, pulling Patrick with him. Not that Patrick needs the encouragement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once David’s legs his the bed, Patrick’s hands are back on his hips, lifting a little at the same time that he pushes so that David falls to the bed with a little ‘oof’. He crawls back up the bed, watching Patrick watch him, a look of patient consideration on his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“On your back. Knees up, I think.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, you think?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Patrick nods, and smiles, and leans forward, bracing one hand on the mattress and the other around David’s ankle. He pulls enough that David’s flat on his back in the middle of the bed, and Patrick’s hand travels from his ankle up the front of his shin. “Yeah. I think. Now do I need to get the ring gag, or do you think we can turn off the commentary track for tonight?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not going to be able to go again.” He says it like a challenge, like a petulant child forcing someone to push him higher, and faster, on the swings as he refuses to hold on. Patrick’s eyes dart from DAvdi’s slowly softening cock, the come still cooling in David’s pubes, and he sucks his teeth and shrugs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do it, or use your safeword.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>David rolls his eyes but presses his lips together and mimes zipping them closed before he lets his head fall back into the mattress and wraps his arms underneath his knees, pulling them up and into his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He keeps his eyes pressed closed as he listens to Patrick move around his bedroom, listens to the small plastic ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>snick</span>
  </em>
  <span>’ sound of the bottle of lube being flipped open, feels the mattress shift under Patrick’s weight as he leans over David and a second later presses two cool, lube slick fingers to David’s asshole, running them in steady, slow circles over the puckered band of muscle until David relaxes enough that he’s able to press his first finger into David, slow and steady until he’s got his palm pressed flat against David’s ass, and then he pauses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Patrick holds still enough for long enough that David can’t help but wiggle, can’t help but press his body more fully into Patrick’s, wanting a little more, always a little more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hold fucking still,” Patrick growls, and when David doesn’t, he pulls his finger all the way out and laughs when David groans, long and low and deeply frustrated. “Oh, I’m sorry David. What makes you think we’re doing </span>
  <em>
    <span>any </span>
  </em>
  <span>of this your way?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>David opens his mouth to respond, but before he can get the first word out, Patrick slides two fingers into this mouth, long and heavy along his tongue, at the same time that he slides two fingers back into David’s ass, and David hisses a little at the sudden stretch, wraps his lips around Patrick’s fingers and sucks deeply as Patrick starts to pump two fingers in and out of him, slowly. David watches Patrick’s eyelids flutter, watches the way he licks his lips as a thin sheen of sweat breaks out across his forehead. David sucks a little harder, runs his tongue against the seam of Patrick’s two fingers, swirls it around the tips and bites playfully at Patrick’s second knuckles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bite gets David a smirk, and a third finger, enough stretch and pull at the thin ring of muscle that already David is squirming and panting, the come from the doorway handjob not even completely dry on the inside of Patrick’s wrist as he fucks his hand into David. Patrick continues to do the thing that David loves, flicking his wrist and dragging the pads of his fingers across David’s prostate so unrelentingly that it’ dances along the edge of pleasure and pain and David wants to live there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He mumbles against the fingers in Patrick’s mouth, something that sounds like, “I’m going to come,” but it comes out sounding wet, choked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s that?” Patrick pulls his drool-drenched fingers out of David’s mouth</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I said I’m going to come,” David forces out, his throat dry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh yeah? Well, I thought you said that wasn’t going to happen again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was wro-wr-ahhh,” David’s explanation dies in his throat when Patrick bends down and wraps his mouth around the head of David’s dick, licks the precome out of David’s slit. He sits up and wipes the back of his and across his mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well look at that,” Patrick says, the same tone of voice he’d had that day he and David had seen a double rainbow over Schitt’s Creek. “Looks like you might be able to come again after all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then Patrick just. Looks at him. Runs his eyes up and down David’s exposed body until David starts to squirm, feeling exposed as the blood begins to leave his dick even as his balls continue to ache. He’s seconds away from asking Patrick to finish the job, to get him off just so his dick stops hurting, when Patrick’s there again, fresh lube on his fingers as he immediately adds a third finger. It’s a lot of stretch, and David hisses, his dick hardening again almost immediately. He moans, a wounded sound, as Patrick continues to fuck in and out of him, looking down at him with this smile that’s part sexy domination, part gleeful sadist, and David bites down hard on his lip as he feels his orgasm build again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If he doesn’t say anything, if Patrick doesn’t know, maybe he can come before Patrick has the chance to —</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Patrick’s fingers pull out of David’s body drags them across the sheets. He kisses the frustrated groan out of David’s mouth, and when David starts to flail a little and whine, Patrick rubs gently across David’s lower belly until he’s able to calm the rest of his body down again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>mean</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” David whines into the skin of his bicep, his head turned away from Patrick as Patrick’s fingers dance lightly across David’s tender hole. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Patrick coos, “I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>electrifying</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>David wants to laugh, would laugh, if he weren’t so close to orgasming every muscle in his body was held in tension, the muscles of his body like a pulled spring. Instead, he’s making a sort of high-pitched whining noise that doesn’t stop, just sort of transforms itself into a chanting of Patrick’s name, and God, and ‘fuck’ and all the other words David never remembers saying when he’s about to come. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s about to come. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s about to come, but he’s not coming, and when Patrick pulls his fingers all the way out of David for the </span>
  <em>
    <span>third </span>
  </em>
  <span>time, he’s going to safeword, he really fucking is, because there’s edging and there’s torture and something something Geneva Convention.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Big, or bigger David?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bi— what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Big. Or. Bigger. You wanted to do this your way. Now’s your chance.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it hits David like a ton of bricks. The box they’d gotten in the mail last week, a few more feet of nylon rope, a replacement key for their M100 handcuffs, and — two more buttplugs, both swirled with the blues-pinks-blacks of a supernova and sized into what David lovingly referred to as “Big” and “Bigger”. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>David can’t make his brain work, doesn’t know how to form words with his mouth, can’t seem to remember any word but….“bigger,” he croaks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good boy,” Patrick says, and David feels the bed move again, counts out the seconds in his head before Patrick is back, kneeling between David’s thighs and smearing what </span>
  <em>
    <span>sounds </span>
  </em>
  <span>to David like a disgusting amount of lube over the plug. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first knot of the plug slips in easily, David ready and waiting after an almost unrelenting fingering from his boyfriend. But the second one — David has to breathe slowly through his nose, focus on concentrating as Patrick works it in with small thrusts, gentle twists and David stretches open. Patrick gets it fully seated and David can already feel it pressing relentlessly into his prostate. Patrick moves, and lowers David’s legs until their straight, David’s breath catching in his chest in the opposite of a scream as each little movement makes David feel like he’s about to blow his load all over everything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>David exhales heavily, waiting for whatever Patrick has in store next, when David hears Patrick in the bathroom, washing his hands. The water stops, and the sounds continue, Patrick moving about their bedroom, opening and closing the top drawer, rifling through the shirts in his closet until he finds another one. He’s just slipping the new choice over his head when he glances at David, almost as an afterthought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“David? Come on, we’ve still got a few hours until close. We can get back to the store and stay open until eight tonight to make up some of the time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>David pushes up on an elbow, whimpering a little as the plug shifts inside him again. “What?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What what? We closed for </span>
  <em>
    <span>all </span>
  </em>
  <span>of the lunch rush, David. If we go back now, we won’t have to open early twice this week to make up for it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s talking about their day like he didn’t jerk David off before he’d had a chance to take his shoes off, like David wasn’t lying on his bed with a giant plug in his ass, his dick still mostly hard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How am I supposed to go to work like this?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Patrick stops and tilts his head, like he’s seriously considering David’s question. “Hm. You know. That’s a good question. Can I get you an answer tonight?” He winks at David and leans over to kiss him on the forehead before making his way to the kitchen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>David lays there for a few more seconds, incredulous, before he gently — ever so gently — gets himself up and off the bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s the longest three-hour shift of David’s life, including every minute he spent at the Blouse Barn, but when they get home for the night, Patrick makes it </span>
  <em>
    <span>overwhelmingly </span>
  </em>
  <span>clear that if there’s one thing their relationship might need, a generator isn’t it. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>title from Richard Siken's <a href="https://bodyliterature.com/2014/04/28/richard-siken/">"The Way the Light Reflects"</a> because in this house we are 100% that bitch</p></blockquote></div></div>
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